CHAPTER I.

The last wisp of hay was in the Eddy mows.  “Come on!” shouted Jot.  “Here she goes—­hip, hip, hoo-ray!”

“Hoor-a-ay!” echoed Kent.  But of course Old Tilly took it calmly.  He planted his brown hands pocket-deep and his bare, brown legs wide apart, and surveyed the splendid, bursting mows with honest pride.

“Yes, sir, that’s the finest lot o’ hay in Hexham county; beat it if you can, sir!” he said approvingly.  Then, being ready, he caught off his own hat and cheered, too.

“Hold on, you chaps; give the old man a chance to holler with you!” Father Eddy’s big, hearty voice cried above the din, and there was the flaring, sun-browned “wide-awake” swinging with the other hats.

“Hooray for the best hay in town!  Hooray for the smartest team o’ boys!  Hooray for lib-er-tee!”

“Hooray!  Hooray!”

They were all of them out of breath and red in the face, but how they cheered!  Liberty—­that was something to cheer for!  After planting-time and haying, hurrah for liberty!

The din softened gradually.  With a sweep of his arm, father gathered all the boys in a laughing heap before him.

“Well,” he said, “what next?  Who’s going to celebrate?  I’m done with you for a fortnight.  I’m going to hire Esau Whalley to milk and do the chores, and send you small chaps about your business.  You’ve earned your holiday.  And I don’t know but it’s as good a time as any to settle up.  Pay day’s as good one day as another.”

He drew out a little tight roll of bills and sorted out three five-dollar notes gravely.  The boys’ eyes began to shine.  Father ’most always paid them, after haying, but—­five dollars apiece!  Old Tilly pursed his lips and whistled softly.  Kent nudged Jot.

[Illustration:  He sorted out three five-dollar notes gravely.]

“There you are!  You needn’t mind about giving receipts!” Father Eddy said matter-of-factly, but his gray eyes were a-twinkle under their cliffs of gray brows.  He was exulting quietly in the delight he could read in the three round, brown faces.  Good boys—­yes, sir—­all of them!  Wasn’t their beat in Hexham county—­no, sir!  Nor yet in Marylebone county or Winnipeg!

“Now, on with you—­scatter!” he laughed.  “Mother and I are going to mill to celebrate!  When you’ve decided what you’re going to do, send a committee o’ three to let us know.  Mind, you can celebrate any way you want to that’s sensible.”

The boys waited till the tall, stoop-shouldered figure had gone back into the dim, hay-scented barn, then with one accord the din began again.

“Hoo-ray!  Hoo-ray for father!”

“Father! father! hoo-ray!”

“Hoor-a-ay!”

It died away, began again, then trailed out to a faint wail as the boys scuttled off round the barn to the orchard.  Father smiled to himself unsteadily.